“Do you hear yourself? You’re acting like your damn biological clock just exploded and you’re desperately trying to get ahead of the backdraft. Why don’t you chill out?”

“Chill out? You’re the one being an ass. You offered to help and now you’re finding fault in everyone I suggest and you’re not making suggestions of your own. And you’re not writing anything down.”

“Believe me, I’ll remember everyone you’ve suggested.”

That she was comparing him to one of the guys she’d suggested for her list hooked something down in his gut that he hated to think about.

“Why are you being so difficult?” she asked.

“None of them are good enough.”

He did feel that way; he truly did. And he liked Laz, but it just didn’t seem right.

Because he didn’t want any of the men in here, any of the men in town, any of the men in the world, to touch her. They all had their chance. The men of the world had failed Sammy Marshall. Hadn’t given her what she needed.

“Well, all right, Ryder, maybe you should do it, then.”

Her words landed in the middle of the table and just sat there. He was afraid it might bend and break beneath the weight of them.

“So many opinions about what I need the father of my baby to be. So many opinions on how that baby is made, my thought processes and blah blah blah. Put your money where your mouth is. Or your...your...you know, I can’t even finish it. I think you can figure it out.”

Her cheeks were on fire now, but she wasn’t backing down.

Him.

She’d asked him.

And hell, he was supposed to be her protector. He was supposed to...

He was supposed to be her protector. He was supposed to be the one.

And suddenly, everything crystallized; it all became clear. He stood up from his seat and began to cross the bar, making his way across the weathered floorboards.

He looked around the room, at all the men present. All under consideration as Sammy’s baby creator.

Him.

She’d asked him.

“I’ll do it, Sammy. I’ll be the father of your baby.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

SAMMY WANTED HER STAID, predictable friend back. He had been nothing but absolutely out of character from the moment they had stepped into the bar tonight. From pushing her on the subject of...orgasms of all things, to this. This. She couldn’t even actually believe that he... There was no way that he... He was lying.

She’d asked him because she’d known he’d back down.

Because she’d been desperate to reclaim the natural order of things.

But he hadn’t backed down. Football had been playing on the bar TV and he hadn’t looked at it once. He’d only been looking at her.

Him.

“You don’t want children,” she said.

She looked up at him, all handsome lines and angles and basically every dangerous fantasy a girl had ever had wrapped around the heart and soul of a really good guy, and she could suddenly think of no better man to father her child.